Blue Moon Rising
by TheNerdyNanny
Summary: Based on a one-shot called 'Back Door' by PaBurke. Basic premise? Oz goes to work for Wayne Enterprises as a computer programmer. One thing leads to another until, well, you'll just have to read to find that out now won't you?
1. Premise: 'Back Door'

**Premise**

"Mr. Wayne, your three o'clock is here."

Bruce thanked his secretary and moved out from behind his big oak desk. He didn't know why his new IT employee had arranged for this meeting, but Bruce didn't think it was blackmail, so he didn't want to intimidate the young man. Yet.

Daniel Osbourne paused in the open doorway and glanced around. He met Bruce's eyes without flinching. It intrigued Bruce and hardened his gaze just to see Osbourne's reaction. The computer guy –who was probably getting a raise after this- showed the slightest hint of humor in the twist of his lips. He stepped into Bruce's office and closed the door behind him. The tech's level of situational awareness made Bruce wonder if he had hired a Justice League member on the sly.

"Mr. Wayne," the man said quietly. Not submissively, just quietly.

"Mr. Osbourne," Bruce replied in kind.

They shook hands and Bruce motioned to the second chair in front of his desk. "What brings you out of the computer labs?" he asked.

Osbourne handed over a file without a word. Bruce accepted it and appreciated the man's straight shooting. He quickly understood the contents of the file. He debated how to play this. He had never expected anyone to find his little back door into the Wayne Enterprises' intra-net. Bruce had added it to the system at its inception and Tim Drake had updated it a few times, but he was currently busy with the Titans, and computers were constantly evolving. Osbourne had traced it back to the mansion. He had also found the link to the Justice League orbiting space station and Titan's Tower. He was a very talented young man.

"Do you want me to ignore it, secure it or remove it?" Osbourne asked. He was also wise in his approach.

Bruce knew that his lips were twisting with wry humor. "Secure it, thank you."

Osbourne nodded once and stood as if to leave. That was all he had wanted to know. Bruce appreciated his brevity.

"How would you like a promotion and a raise?" Bruce offered. He wanted to keep Osbourne close for a number of reasons. He could be a reliable ally or an insidious enemy.

Osbourne tilted his head, almost interested.

Bruce smiled –his Batman smiled, not his playboy smile- and saw that the young man didn't draw back in fear. He tapped the evidence of the space station. "This needs a programmer like yourself."

Osbourne considered the offer.

"I'll have the formalized offer written up and placed on your desk by the end of the day. There's no time limit by which you must accept it. Of course, the exact location of the … ah… promotion wouldn't be included in the written offer, but you know how these things work."

Osbourne nodded. He had most likely dealt with things of a classified nature before. Bruce would have to review the young man's résumé more carefully.

Bruce offered a hand to Osbourne. "It was very good to do business with you, Mr. Osbourne."

Osbourne shook his hand as firmly as before. "You too, Mr. Wayne."

_*Brief Note – I have tweaked the timeline in the rest of the story to coincide with the Justice League and Justice League Unlimited cartoon series. Story Begins just after Secret Origins, with the Watchtower still being in general development and the Justice League settling into their team._


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_3:01 pm, Tuesday, April 3__rd__ – The Watchtower_

Clark Kent surveyed the young man in front of him.

'_Young man,'_ he thought with wry amusement. The boy really couldn't be more than a few years younger than himself. A fact that was confirmed when he recalled Bruce mentioning the tech was only 27. At 32 he was hardly an old man, but he sure felt like it sometimes.

The tech himself was looking around with only mild curiosity on his otherwise blank face. He was quite a bit shorter than Clark had expected, if he was going to be honest, with his spikey red hair barely coming up to the Man of Steels shoulders. But then Clark was hardly a realistic benchmark. The Tech was wearing baggy khaki cargo pants, an open flannel shirt over a black band T for some group he had never heard of. A small laminated ID card hung from a lanyard around his neck. He looked more like a college kid going for a tour than the computer genius Bruce had described to him. The mental image was only reinforced by the fact that Bruce, having come straight from the office, was still wearing one of his thousand dollar designer business suite.

When he realized that he had been lost in his own thoughts and starring for a bit longer than was strictly polite, he quickly shook himself out of it and put on his most welcoming smile. Putting out his hand, he struggled to suppress his own misgivings as he greeted their guest.

"Welcome to the Watchtower."

"Nice Place." The young man commented politely. He spoke softly, but matched Clark's handshake with an impressively strong grip.

Not sure what else to say, Clark fell back on his deeply ingrained Midwestern politeness and introduced himself. "I'm Superman."

"I noticed." It was hard to tell, but the tech may have been smirking at him. Bruce had definitely quirked an eyebrow at his awkwardness, and Clark was desperately fighting the battle not to blush. Finally, the young man took pity on his discomfort, the corners of his mouth now definitely lifted slightly.

"Daniel Osbourne. Just call me Oz."

Clark nodded gratefully at the young man before Bruce coughed quietly from the background.

"Auxiliary control is this way."

Clark followed just behind the pair as Bruce led the unconcerned young man calmly through the multi-billion dollar space station. He looked on in surprise as Bruce passed the viewing platform, past the main deck, and past pretty much anything of interest to a small dark room tucked back in one of the service hallways. Having never actually been in this particular room himself, he took a quick look around. A sea of computer banks, most of which displayed only scrolling green text which made absolutely no sense to Clark, looked down on a single desk chair situated in the center of a broad desk.

With little introduction, Oz took a seat at the desk. He ran a quick gaze over the constantly scrolling data. The light from the green text reflected an eerie glow across his face. Apparently having seen everything that he needed to see, he set his hands atop the digital keyboard and, with no further encouragement, began clacking away.

Clark looked on, not comprehending a single thing that flashed up on the screens, watching as the young man he had only just met immersed himself deep into the very core of their most private sanctuary. Bruce looked completely calm and unperturbed, standing ramrod straight as always, wrists clasped behind his back as he watched the boy work. Clark wanted to question him, on a number of issues as a matter of fact, but was unwilling to do so with one of the many subjects of his concern in the room.

At some point only a few minutes later Bruce glanced down at his watch and, either having noticed the movement or simply by sheer coincidence, the tech paused in his work to swing back around.

"This is going to take a while."

"Estimate?"

"Rough scan – three and a half hours. Secondary diagnostics, another five?"

"Full analysis?"

Oz seemed to hesitate, perhaps trying to calculate a time frame estimate, or maybe concerned about how Bruce might react to unfavorable information. Clark couldn't be sure. But the answer followed less than a heartbeat later.

"Comprehensive scans require a full systems shut down. Minimum 36 hours dark with 12 more for processing."

"Start with the rough scans." Bruce decided swiftly. Oz nodded and turned back to his screens without as much as a second glance. Clark blinked and Bruce was already out the door.

Suddenly finding himself alone in a room with a computer tech who was otherwise oblivious to his existence, Clark snapped to it and followed his friend out of the room and down the hallway. He was reluctant to leave someone he had only just met alone in the heart of the Watchtowers infrastructure, but quickly decided that getting a few answers out of his friend was more important at the moment.

"You're just going to leave?" Clark asked incredulously.

"I have a company to run and, unlike you Clark, people actually notice when I don't show up for work for a few days at a time."

"What about the tech? You're just going to leave him here by himself?"

"You are more than welcome to stare at a computer screen for three and a half hours, but as neither one of us is really qualified to supervise I think I can find a better use for my time."

Clark frowned, his brow creasing at his friends abrupt tone. Well… more abrupt than usual.

"Bruce…"

"I have a merger with Russia underway and a meeting with the R&amp;D department in twenty minutes Clark. Whatever concerns you have, they can wait until I get back."

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Clark asked, almost desperately, as his friend disappeared into the lift.

Just before the doors closed Bruce shot Clark an exasperated but humoring glance. "Try introducing yourself again. It seemed to work well last time."

The man of steel was left starring at the closed doors of the elevator, wishing, and not for the first time in his life, that he didn't have his super strength – that way he could punch his friend in the face without feeling guilty for having an unfair advantage.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_12:10 pm, Saturday, March 31__st__ (four days ago) – Wayne Industries_

Bruce looked at the official CV in front of him. To say the sparse document was less than impressive was an understatement. There were huge gaps missing from his records, and what was there didn't usually inspire confidence.

Dismal school grades in high school combined with off the charts test scores painted a picture of a less than ambitious genius. A brief stint in college followed the same pattern. But from there the young man seemingly dropped off the grid only to reappear just as suddenly five years ago. From there the young man had quickly completed his degree in computer science, blitzed through his Masters, and begun taking on a series of very impressive contracting jobs before coming to work for Wayne Industries a few months ago. He had two addresses on file with HR, one for a small apartment in town and another for a place two states over.

Some of the contracting jobs listed were considerably more impressive than the rest of his resume, and Bruce assumed that it was on the strength of these contracts that Mr. Osborne had gotten the job. He had done some work with a private all-girls school in Ohio, the law office of Wolfram &amp; Hart in L.A., and even a few military contracts. Primarily though, he had worked extensively for a very old and very reclusive private research consortium in England.

However, while most bosses might check an employee's Facebook or Myspace, Bruce Wayne had other means to verify his new IT technician's credentials. And what he found had sounded more familiar than he cared to admit.

The boy's high school years had been pockmarked with reported incidents of trespassing, involvement in a series of scuffles around town, and a distressing stretch of hospitalizations and school absences due to illness. This had continued, though less consistently, during his brief stint in college.

Then, in his sophomore year, there had been a death. A girl's body, found mutilated and abandoned in the forest, had eventually turned out be an acquaintance of Oz's, a girl from out of town who had been visiting a friend. Rumors of a potential romance between the two had been documented, and the boy had been brought in for questioning, but nothing had been proven or confirmed. Two weeks later, however, Daniel Osborne had disappeared off the map.

It was only through his decidedly less official channels that Bruce had been able to trace the boys' movements after that. The young man had spent several years collecting a number of stamps on his passport, primarily in the regions in and around Tibet. He had, at one point, returned to California, but only very briefly. Bruce had been able to pick up rumblings of an unauthorized military project in the boys home town, and had been able to confirm that the two had come into contact somehow, but that was all. The boy had left again, this time heading for the Middle East, before disappearing from Bruce's radar all together. Two months after he had left town however, the military project collapsed in a, apparently, very sudden and violent way.

There was no doubt Daniel Osbourne was a certified genius when it came to computers. And while most employers might see this sort of record as a risk, Bruce was able to see the potential of what the boy could be. Regardless of the path the young man might eventually take, Bruce decided that the best course of action would be to keep a close eye on him.

"Mr. Wayne?" Bruce looked up and nodded to his secretary to continue. "You have a Mr. Osborne on line three. He says you're expecting his call?"

_11:49 am, Saturday, March 31__st__ (half an hour earlier) – 192 miles outside of Gotham_

He could hear his heart beat in his ears as he hid. It had been too long, he would be found out any moment now and as his back up had deserted him. He cowered behind his temporary shelter, waiting to be discovered.

"Garhh!" A vicious snarl overhead had him twisting quickly to face his opponent, but not quite quickly enough as a small flailing body propelled itself over the back of the couch and wrapped itself around his middle in a fierce hug.

"Agh! You got me!" he cried with mock terror, hugging the little girl in his lap back as she continued to attack his middle. A small head of raven black hair beneath which sat two big blue eyes perked up to glare at him with indignation.

"Uncle Oz! You're supposed to die now! I got you!"

"I think that's enough for now," a soft giggle interrupted as a young woman peered down at the two where they were playing behind the couch, wiping her hands on the dish towel slung over her shoulder as she smiled at the sight.

"But Mom!"

"No buts young lady. Lunch first, play time later." Oz quirked a smile at the woman's _'stern' _voice. The young girl quickly disengaged with only a token pout and crawled out.

"Bye Madelyn. We'll play more later, ok?"

"Ok Uncle Oz!" The little girl chirped contentedly. She was leaving the small living space when she apparently remembered something and dashed back over to the couch. Oz was just standing up when she wrapped her arms around his legs. "Thank you for playing with me Uncle Oz!"

Oz couldn't help but smile at the little girl a he ran his fingers through her long dark hair. "No problem Madelyn. I had fun."

That was apparently all the little girl had needed to hear before she scampered off towards the kitchen area.

"Wash your hands!" The woman called out after the little girl, and was rewarded a half second later with the sounds of a step stool being dragged across the floor and the tap being turned on. It wasn't a big place. The mobile home had only a few hundred square feet to its name

"You know, you're a pretty great mom, Elizabeth." Oz commented quietly. Elizabeth, or 'Liza' as most people called her, blushed slightly and smiled fondly at him.

"You make a pretty great Uncle." Oz's lips quirked at that as he stood leaning against the sofa.

"How's the job search going?" Oz asked. Liza sighed.

"It's going. He's looking into some contracting jobs in Barre. Otherwise some of the neighbors could use farm hands during the season." Liza hesitated before continuing. "If nothing else Miller's is hiring waitresses over in Littleton."

"You shouldn't have to do that," Oz interrupted quietly. He knew how important being there for Madelyn was for Liza. The younger woman had dropped everything, even school, when she had discovered she was pregnant during her sophomore year of University. She took occasional classes online now, trying to wrap up her degree. She always said that once Madelyn was in school, she'd go back to work part-time. Or, if they could swing it, try to pursue her masters' degree.

"You know, you are more than welcome to join us. We're having macaroni for lunch."

Oz smiled again, but politely declined. "Thanks for the offer, but I have a phone call to make." There was a heavy pause as Liza regarded him carefully.

"Are you sure you want to get involved in something like this?" Liza asked, her voice heavy with concern. Oz just shrugged. "You know you don't have to do this. We can find another way."

Oz smiled appreciatively, glad, and not for the first time, that his cousin had managed to find such an amazing woman. It was in her nature to be concerned for those she cared about and he, despite all his resistance, had become a part of her family. He knew she was well aware of the obstacles they would be facing. But still she and Jordy had uprooted their lives to follow him into the middle of nowhere with no promises of success or stability. Just a chance. That's all they really had – a chance. And he couldn't bring himself to fail them.

"We have to do something."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_4:48 pm, Tuesday, April 3__rd__ – The Watchtower_

Clark jerked awake and then had to fight hard to suppress a yawn. He had been sitting in this dark, cramped, slightly warm little computer room for over an hour now, with only the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard and the soft glow of the green text scrolling down across the armies of computer screens for company. Eventually he lost his battle to suppress the yawn and then had to shake himself back to his senses.

Desperate to find something to occupy his mind, he began scrutinizing the young man seated at the computer screens in front of him. Of the dozen or more screens, at least half of them seemed to be occupied with slowly running scans, their slowly filling progress bars like a slowly marching army glowing steadily against the screens at slightly varying rates. The impression of him as a college student on tour had quickly faded as he watched the young man clacking away at his keyboard, diligently buried in his work with a sort of single minded focus that Clark found impressive. He had understood relatively quickly what Bruce had seen in the young man.

Oz moved with a sense of balance and a conservation of motion that Clark had only ever seen in other Justice League members and, occasionally, military veterans. In fact, it reminded him a great deal of the way Bruce moved when not wearing his Playboy façade. Oz blended so easily into the background due to his quiet nature that it was easy to forget he was there, even when starring right at him. Though quiet and of a fairly slight of build (read as- "really short") Clark had a feeling that underestimating this young man would not be a wise move... despite his wardrobe.

Clark had a sudden flash of a CD sitting on Kara's desk at home and thought he recognized the artwork on the front of Oz's shirt. Clark switched to X-ray vision in an attempt to make out the logo, subtly ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind (which sounded suspiciously like his mother) about invading other people's privacy. As he focused his vision he felt a slight buzzing in the back of his eyes, but ignored it as tiredness.

Clark had intended to just quickly scan through the young man to check the logo on the front of his shirt, but that was proving more difficult than he had thought. His vision was slow to respond, taking longer than it should have to scan through the techs body, meaning that he had time to recognize and register the marks in the tissue. And what he saw shocked him.

The young man's body was absolutely littered with scar tissue. Bone breaks in nearly every rib, left femur and knee, all of the bones in his right ankle, and most of his left arm. There was other soft tissue damage that could have possibly been explained away as sports injuries, school yard scuffles, or even a car crash. But then there were the blotches of tissue damage along his lower back and sides that looked like they were from electrical damage. There were no less than a half dozen bullet holes, some of which looked like they were from a shot-gun. What alarmed him the most though, were two scars on the front of the young man's body. There was a series of jagged slashes across the top left side of his chest which looked suspiciously like claw marks. And along the front of his chest and down the middle of his abdomen was a surgical scar that Clark had only ever seen on those who were no longer among the living.

Oz sniffed faintly, scratching at the side of his nose and shifted uncomfortably at his seat. Clark quickly looked away and straightened himself up, having the unsettling, and completely illogical, feeling of being caught by his mother looking at a dirty picture. Oz caught the motion and turned to look at the normally impressive super hero with one faintly raised eyebrow.

Clark scrambled for something to say and could only smack himself at the words that finally came out of his mouth. "Uh… Dingoes Ate My Baby?"

Oz looked at him curiously for a half second before his lips quirked faintly. "Heard of them?"

"Uh, I think Ka- Supergirl has." Clark couldn't believe it. He was so frazzled that he had very nearly slipped up and called Kara by name. Struggling to regain some of his composure, he coughed and sat up a little straighter. "I've seen a few CD's with the same sort of design as your shirt lying around the station."

"She's got good taste," was the only quiet comment that Oz provided, still smirking slightly. He sniffed again faintly, and Clark was beginning to wonder if the young man suffered from allergies when Clarks advanced hearing picked up faints sounds of movement from the other side of the station. He tensed faintly before he recognized the Flash's voice echoing around the primary observation deck, quickly followed by the Green Lantern.

"Ah- looks like the rest of the gang is here," Superman commented lightly. Oz just looked at him blankly, apparently waiting for him to continue, maybe to tell him why this was relevant, before Oz apparently came to some sort of conclusion himself.

"You don't want me poking around in the computer systems unsupervised." It wasn't stated as a question, or with any indignation, just a simple recognition of fact. But Clark still felt the need to protest politely.

"It's not that-"

Oz's raised eyebrow made him stop in the middle of his own protest. Oz waited for another half moment before clicking a few more keys on the keyboard to launch yet another scan, before standing up and looking at the still seated Superman expectantly. When the super hero apparently didn't get the hint Oz helped him along.

"I'll follow you?"

A light bulb went off in Superman's head as he realized what Oz was hinting at. "Ah, yeah, sure. Let's go do the introductions."

_*Note – For the Record, I am not a big 'Four Star Mary' fan. So for the purposes of my story, and because I can, I will be stealing songs from Skillet, Papa Roach, Breaking Benjamin, and Shinedown._


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_**5:02 pm, Tuesday, April 3**__**rd**__** – The Watchtower**_

Clark stood and, with Oz following quietly a few steps behind, made his way into the hall and back towards the main observation deck. Once again Oz seemed to sort of melt into the background and even with his superior sense he had to keep checking back to make sure the young man was still following. He was, each and every time, and he seemed to be growing more and more amused with Superman's constant checking as time progressed.

As they finally closed in on the main deck Clark could make out the conversation without having to rely on his super hearing. What he heard did not inspire confidence in a good first impression.

"No! What are you talking about? Tom Turbine could totally kick the Green Guardsman's ass! And neither one of them could ever hope to lay a hand on the Streak!"

"Bullshit. You know perfectly well that in #62, when the evil alien 'Protissor' took over the minds of the Guild, that the Guardsman managed to take down Siren, Streak, and was in a dead heat with Tom Turbine before Catman managed to break the mind control crystal!"

If Superman had been hoping to make an imposing first impression on the otherwise unflappable computer tech, he was sorely disappointed. But the tech didn't seem to mind.

"That was only because Turbine was still weak from his battle with 'Oris' in #57."

The bickering superheroes stopped in their tracks to stare at the quietly smirking young man standing just beside Superman, Lantern glaring and Flash with wide eyed surprise.

"Uh, Supes? Who's your new buddy here?" Flash asked somewhat nervously, obviously perturbed to see the casual young man standing in the midst of their sanctuary.

"Oz," Oz introduced casually as he reached out to shake the hero's hands. "From IT."

Flash was the first one to reach out and shake the offered hand as he zipped the twenty feet across the main deck to reach him, looking peculiarly at odd young man in front of him. The Green Lantern was a little more reluctant, but eventually shook the tech's hand, not missing an opportunity to loom over the much smaller man in an attempt at physical intimidation. Oz just quirked his lips in one of those faint smirks of his.

Clark could see Lantern starting to bristle and Flash looking on in confusion and decided to step in. "He's here to work on the Watchtower's systems. Batman brought him in."

Hoping that Oz having the ever paranoid Batman's clearance would smooth Lanterns ruffled feathers, Superman stood awkwardly between his team mates and the young computers expert.

"Oz, huh? As in, The Wizard Of?" Flash asked, teasing the newcomer. Oz just smirked.

"Not quite. But I've known my fair share of Witches."

Flash didn't really seem to know what to do with that, not used to people being able to fire back at him so quickly. Oz glanced back at Clark, who was still looking uncertainly between the young man and his teammates and gave the normally very intimidating super hero a decidedly unimpressed look.

Clark had just opened his mouth, still not quite sure what he was going to say, when the transparent form of J'onn J'onzz rose up from floor beside them all. Despite the typically unsettling nature of his arrival, Superman had never been more grateful for the Martians presence.

"Hello, I do not believe we have met." J'onn said, regarding the young man curiously.

"Oz. From IT." Oz answered, accepting J'onns somewhat awkward attempt at a handshake, which was still an unnatural habit for the Martian, with calm grace.

"IT, I do not believe I am familiar with that particular term."

"It stands for Information Technology. I look after the computers."

"I see. Are they in need of repair?"

"Not necessarily. But computer systems on earth are continuously changing and evolving as we learn better ways to process, handle, transmit, and store electronic information. So the systems constantly need to be updated."

"Fascinating."

"It's pretty cool," Oz agreed amicably.

"Uh, yeah," Clark agreed, watching the exchange between the Martian and the computer tech curiously before shaking himself out of his thoughts enough to note their missing members. "Hey, where's Hawk Girl and Wonder Woman?"

"I believe they are storing some of the equipment in the hanger," J'onn supplied.

"Ok," Superman began, trying to regain some coordination. "I just need to speak with Lantern, and Flash for a moment and then we can go back to auxiliary control-"

"I was not aware that you were proficient in computer programming," J'onn asked. Clark cleared his throat, uncertain of how to proceed, when Oz beat him to it.

"They don't trust me to be alone in the systems control room without supervision."

"Can you effectively supervise someone if unfamiliar with the task at hand?"

Superman shifted uncomfortably and scratched at the back of his neck. Oz was thankfully silent on the matter, although his slightly quirked eyebrow spoke volumes about just what he thought about Superman's insistent monitoring.

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance?" J'onn suggested amicably. "Although I am new to the human terminology, I was quite adept at our own … 'IT'? Back on Mars"

"Cool," Oz replied, his voice continuously neutral, although Superman thought he did sound genuinely interested in working with the Martian. "I'd love to get your notes on some of these processing nodes."

"Alas, I have no 'notes' of which to speak of."

"Terran expression. Means I would like to exchange information with you, primarily based on your experience in the area."

"Ahh. That makes much more sense. I find human expressions to be exceedingly difficult."

"They're inherently illogical. Most are experience based. And if you lack that familiar cultural background…"

"Then the expressions do not make sense…. Interesting."

"No worries. You're getting there."

"Getting where?'

As the pair rounded the corner at the end of the hall and disappeared from view, three rather stunned super heroes were left gawking at the space they had just occupied.

"Uh, what just happened?" Flash asked, still left scratching his head.

"I think our little Martian just made his first Earth friend," Lantern answered, sounding confused himself at this most recent turn of events.

"Come on," Superman nudged, still bewildered but slowly shaking himself out of it. "Let's go find Diana and Shiara. There's a few things we need to go over, and I really don't want to leave those two by themselves for too long."

GL and Flash nodded as the three turned and headed back towards the hanger bay.

* * *

_Yes, it's short. But you won't be disjointed when you see the next one (hehehe)_


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

_The Teaser for my first original book is up! Find it on my Facebook page here or at the URL at the bottom of the page._

_Shares are Hugs. Likes are Love. And constructive reviews are made of solid gold!_

_And yes, Chapter Five is a Biggie :)_

* * *

**_11:48 am, Tuesday, April 3_****_rd_****_ – WCI Headquarters, London, England_**

"So, what's the big bad?" A tall, straggly haired man asked casually as he ambled into the 'War Room' in a loud Hawaiian shirt with an eye patch over half his face. He flopped himself into one of the admittedly very comfortable rolly chairs seated around the briefing table and had to struggle to roll himself back a little bit when it span away from the table, grinning roguishly at the others. A stuffy older man in a tweed jacket just sighed tiredly and cleaned his glasses while a twenty something brunette girl just smiled softly back. Some of the others chuckled softly or smirked at him and, as the last of their assembled little group arrived and closed the wide open double doors to the conference room, they all settled in for 'game face' time.

There were about a dozen of them these days, senior members of the WIC council, and though they were frequently scattered all across the globe this was one of those rare few occasions when the vast majority of them were actually not only in the same time zone, but actually seated at the same table. Rupert Giles, who had finished polishing his glasses and was now fiddling fastidiously with his pen, was officially in charge of the British division, including not just England but Scotland and Ireland as well. But he was also the senior most Watcher and head of the Watchers Council. Though they tried to do things democratically, there were many times when it just came down to one person needing to make a judgement call. And as far as Xander was concerned, there was no one's judgement he trusted more than Giles.

Oh! That was him by the way. Alexander Harris. Or, as most people called him, just Xander. Xander had been bouncing around for the better part of the last six years since old 'Sunnyhell' had sunk into the earth, or, more accurately, been swallowed up by a collapsing black pit of evil nothingness. He'd spent eight months helping the girls to get the Cleveland school up and running, his carpentry skills and construction experience making him quite possibly the most useful person there. But after a while there just hadn't been enough doors needing to be fixed or classrooms needing to be built to justify him staying there. And, if he were honest with himself, he just needed to get away for a little while. After everything that had happened with Anya he'd never had any real time to process, and he needed that. So, with the girls blessing and Giles support and travel assistance, he'd headed off to Africa. At first he'd just wandered around, sometimes helping out villagers whose homes or schools had been damaged by civil war in exchange for a hot meal and a place to sleep at night, but mostly just moving around from city to city.

That was until he'd met _her_.

Her name was Kali. She was fifteen. She was alone and she was scared, and she had the strength of nearly a dozen men. She hadn't understood her gift. Apparently the watcher meant for her had been shot in Somalia before ever making it to her. She was a Potential. Meant to one day possess the power of the slayer. But after everything that had happened with the first, that wasn't true anymore. Now she _was_ a Slayer.

She had completely freaked out of course, when Xander had told her in his incredibly crappy Africanse. And without any real vampire population in Africa he had no way to prove it. At least not until a Grothork demon had tried smashing through an entire village's collection of huts. Some axing, punching, and seriously icky demon gunk later, Kali was the savior of the village of Jezza, and Xander had a new calling. Three years he'd spent collecting potentials, telling them who and what they were, and inviting them to join their new school in Jezza. The villagers, all one hundred and twenty three of them, were no longer able to hide in the dark and instead chose to fight in the light, helping to build (with Giles financial assistance) and then maintain and work at the school, many of them enrolling in the Watchers Academy themselves. Kali, now almost nineteen, was there now, running the place while he was away on Council business.

Among the others seated around the Council table were Faith and Robin, who ran the Cleveland branch and had now been married for almost three years with a frankly adorable baby girl seated on Robin's lap, Andrew and Simon (A British version of Andrew who'd survived the Watchers massacre by hiding under a desk for two days), who ran the sciences and research division here at headquarters, Willow, Abigail, and Teresa, who were in charge of pagan, wiccan, and magical research and training, Jessica, a 35 year old Slayer who ran the day to day operations of the London division, himself (Xander), Giles (of course), and the softly smiling brunette sitting across from him – Dawnie.

Out of all of them he thought that Dawnie had by far turned out the best. After everything that had happened she had gone back to complete her High School Equivalency Diploma, helped to restart the Watchers program in Cleveland before eventually moving out to England where she was accepted Oxford University (with a little help from Giles). She helped organize and manage the Watchers Training Academy (WTA) while still studying to become a watcher herself. Choosing not to pursue field work, even after all her teenage longing for being one of the ones in the spotlight, the battle of Sunnydale had apparently put things into perspective for her. So now she ran a think tank and research conglomeration devoted to expanding their working knowledge and looking up a working profile on whatever big bad they had to hunt down that week.

Giles coughed slightly to still the rather fidgety assembled group. He had often described trying to hold these sorts of meeting as like trying to herd Balkurian Hell Cats. Having faced off against one in Uganda last year, the very thought made Xander shudder.

"Very well then, it seems that everyone is here. Shall we get started?"

"Hang on G, what about Buffster?" Xander asked, looking around the room at the only empty chair.

"She's on sabbatical," Dawn said, filling him in quickly. "After we heard about the thing in LA… well, she needed some time off."

The thing in LA- as in the unleashing of an otherworldly demonic apocalypse and the destruction of the centuries old evil corporate conglomeration known as Wolfram and Hart, along with a number of their former colleagues. Xander nodded and the meeting continued.

"Well then," Giles continued as if he'd never been interrupted. "As you well know the Councils original supply lines were often of a less than savory nature." There were a few nods but mostly blank looks. Apparently that little tid-bit was not so well known after all. "After the Councils collapse, many of those networks simply dissolved; contacts going into the wind or underground, some being killed off entirely and others simply refusing to have anything to do with the Council after that whole fiasco with London. Since then it had been proving exceedingly difficult arrange any kind of artifact transportation or procurement, and we are beginning to run low on some much needed supplies." There was a bit more nodding to that. Potion ingredients, weapons- these are the sort of things that don't do well with airport security or customs for that matter. Xander had once spent two weeks waiting for a much needed mummified cat before they could stop a rampaging slug demon that had somehow ended up in the Kalahari. "In addition, travel expenses are becoming a rather ungainly financial drain. The Councils reserves are extensive," Giles was quick to reassure everyone as the nervous whispers began. "But they are not endless. Nor do we have the same resources with which to replenish them. So while we are more than adequately secure, I believe it is up to us to take the financial responsibility to ensure that future generations have the same resources available to them."

Giles cast a quick glance at Robin Jr., who was sitting happily in her father's lap, gurgling as she tried to fit her entire fist in her mouth. Robin held his daughter a little closer, tightening his hold on the thirteen month old as Faith wrapped a protective arm around them both. No one liked the idea of the next batch of Slayers and Watchers going up against a big bad with anything less than the full resources of the Council at their backs.

A quiet cough from the other side of the table brought everyone's attention swinging back around to Xanders favorite brunette. Giles sat as Dawnie stood to address the table.

"With that in mind we are going to be using some of our human resources to refocus on the business aspect of the Council," Dawn began. Taking in the mixed collection of blank and curious expressions, she continued. "A lot of our Watchers-in-training and even some of the Slayers have backgrounds and/or education in business or finance. So we're gonna start re-tasking them to help build up the councils finances through a three pronged strategy."

"Won't this take away resources from, I don't know, fighting bad guys?" Faith asked, not rudely but skeptically. She'd mellowed a lot since mother-hood, but would still always be Faith.

"It would if we were short on people," Dawn agreed whole heartedly. "But the fact of the matter is that we've got like 20 people to every single demon occurrence. And while it's great that we have the resources and the man-power so that slayers don't need to go out all alone, we're spending more time training than anything else simply because there aren't enough bad guys to go around." Faith looked like she was going to interrupt again, but Dawn held out a hand silently asking to let her continue. "We're not talking about pulling all our people out or even cutting the amount of man-power in half. But we are talking about a selective rotation. Basically at any given time 10% of our people would be pulled for a 6 week stint in another area to help build up the Council's resources. Whether that's alchemy, magical artifact procurement, or finance in business. The idea is to use the people we have to help stock our reserves. Which comes back to our three part approach."

Dawnie was really hitting her stride now and Xander for one was tickled pink to see her thriving and in her element. She held up her hand and began ticking off her fingers as she explained.

"One- Magical Procurement. Two- Business and High Finance. Three- Budget Allocation. Starting next month we will begin sending teams of six out into the field to locate and procure rare magical artifacts and other items such as books, tomes, scrolls, potion ingredients, crystals. The lot. We'll mix the teams up based on level of field experience, current placement, and background and training. The idea is to get a good mix of experienced field agents with those who still need training. We also want a wide field of backgrounds and education; magic, business, tech, language, in order to give the most advantage to every team. And we'll be pulling people from all over the world, both so that we don't deplete a single location of all its people and also so that everyone, Watchers and Slayers alike, get a better idea of the big picture. When you stay in one place, protecting one city, it can be easy to get tunnel vision. But it we're going to do this then we need everyone to understand how big it all really is, and to start building bonds with Slayers and Watchers in other Divisions. We can't do this piece meal. We have to start looking at the bigger picture."

"The second part is Business and High Finance. Now the old Council had its fingers in dozens of different industries in hundreds of companies around the world. We're trying to reclaim some of those old interests, but in the mean time we have to come up with some other alternatives. One are that Andrew and Simon have been working on with Willow and the others is an investment algorithm. We'll be asking some of the Clairvoyants to work finance shifts one or two days a week so that we can hopefully have someone on duty, somewhere in the world, 24/7. They'll feed tips to Andrew and Simon's new algorithm, which will make thousands of small investments through a diversified account matrix to yield a larger total return without alerting any oversight institutions to potential insider trading."

There were now more blank looks than ever before, including Xanders, and Dawn sighed tiredly.

"The psychics will give the computers stock tips which they'll use to make a lot of money without anyone being able to track it back to the Council." A round of unanimous nodding as everyone pretended that 'of course, we knew what that meant', and Dawn just sighed again. This time she skipped the big long wordy explanation and went for the Wiki-How response. "We're also gonna open some businesses to put on the taxes. It'll help make the Council look more legitimate. We're gonna start with a few Magic Shops in Cleveland, New York, and London. We're working on China, but they've got their own thing. We'll do some apartments and training academies for us to use, but that's just so we can put income to paper, no one will have to pay for it. Then we may open up some restaurants near major headquarters. It'll cut down on food costs, open up job opportunities for Slayers and trainee-watchers, and maybe make a little money on the side."

"The third bit is costs," Dawnie seemed to have completely given up on big words now, but the missing info was offset by the fact that more of them now understood what was going on. "Now there's only so much we can do about that. Building our own schools, apartments, and training academies on cheap land will cut down on rent. Going greener will help reduce utilities costs, plus Will's is working out a way to get free electricity using a magic static shock sort of set-up, and having slayers do construction is a huge savings. But the biggest variable is still travel. We're gonna buy a couple of planes and train some slayers and watchers to fly, some already know how, and that'll help a lot for sudden emergency airfare. But for regular commuting, like to Council meetings, Willow, Abigail and Teresa have come up with something."

Dawnie took a seat as Willow stood and, instead of talking, turned and walked over to the blank wall on one side of the conference room. Smiling faintly, she did her best 'Game Show' presentation. Blank wall- check. One handy dandy blue pendant necklace (which Willow pulled out from her front top shirt pocket) – check. Wave in front of said wall like swiping a key card and… Voila! A wooden door! Willow opens door to creepy eternal blackness beyond and, ignoring the uncertain and reasonably cautious protests of those assembled at the table behind her, steps through the door into nothing. When the door slammed shut behind her, a riot of voices rang out, as everyone tried to figure what had happened to their resident Queen Wicca. No one noticed the dark veil forming in front of the closed double doors to the conference room at first. Xander, still reasonably calm (he knew Willow knew what she was doing) felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and, turning to look at the doors, saw his favorite red head standing calmly with her hands clasped in front of her, a swirling mass of blackness obscuring the closed door she'd just apparently walked out of. When everyone had finally quieted down and, having been nudged in the right direction, were looking at Willow curiously, she explained.

"The pendants create an interdimensional portal leading you to a fixed point in space. You can create a door on any reasonably flat surface. A wall, a cliff or rock face, a table- even the ground if you were stuck in the middle of the desert or something. So you can make an exit anywhere, but the destination point is fixed. They have to be a physical point in space. It requires weeks of spells, and preparation and incantations in order to get it right or else you could end up getting stuck in the black space for day until we could summon you out. We figured that out the hard way." Willow looked pointedly at Teresa, who blushed slightly but didn't look any worse for wear, so Xander assumed it wasn't her who got stuck. "Right now there's only one destination point- and it's this conference room door. But we're working on making others. First one in R&amp;D, then the Armory and Supplies repository. Once that happens you'll actually have to think about your destination to make it happen. Eventually he hope to have one door in every major headquarters on earth. So that, like, if you needed a book or supplies or more back-up you could pop from the Brazil headquarters to Cleveland and back. Or if you were stuck somewhere you would be able to get back to headquarters without needing a rescue mission."

The room was silent for a moment as everyone soaked that in and tried to adjust to the new piece of magical equipment.

"Wicked," Faith finally broke the silence with her own 'wicked' grin on her face.

"You've invented a reverse transporter!" Andrew squealed excitedly.

"Capable of drawing people in to a singular point but not of beaming them out?" Simon confirmed in a nerdy British drawl. "It's hardly the 'reverse'."

"Oh Shut it-" Xander tuned the pair out as the resident geeks began their nerdy arguing. The two were constantly bickering (ha ha! 'bickering'. Britishness must be contagious) about one thing or another. Eventually you just learned to deal with it.

"Oh man, imagine not having to fight your way out if you got pinned down in a fight? Or being able to do a recon mission without having to worry about making a clean get away?" Robin suggested, always thinking about ways to make it home safe (as one of the few non-super powered fighters, it was a very real concern for him). Faith looked a bit put out about not being able to fight her way out through a hoard of evil baddies (which she generally considered having a 'good time').

"It _is_ worth remembering," Abigail interrupted, the normally quite Scottish girl calling over the racket to get everyone to settle down and bring their attention back to focus. "That as of right now the crystals will only ever bring you back to the War Room. So in a pinch they can be used in the field, but then we would still have to fly you back to Cleveland or New York or Brazil-"

"Or Africa," Xander couldn't help but interrupt. Abigail gave him a 'really?' sort of look while Willow chuckled fondly at her oldest friend. It was nice to see Willow laughing again. He'd missed that.

"Or Africa," Abigail acquiesced before continuing. "Or wherever else. But then you would still be stuck in England waiting for a flight back. So please, think about that return flight before you decide to go popping halfway around the world just for a laugh?"

At this Abigail, and indeed most of the table, looked pointedly at Xander who was mid grimace. The thought of the thirteen hour flight, some of which was done in a forty five year old Russian cargo plane, had definitely put a damper on his planned hijinks. Still he'd just have to think of something else.

"I have one final thing to mention before we can call this meeting to a close and disperse," Giles began quietly. He didn't bother to stand this time as everyone else settled in to pay attention, half of them already thinking about what they wanted for lunch, but had instead resumed the fastidious polishing of his glasses.

"Now, for those of you who do not know, Mr. Daniel Osborne is an old and very dear friend of those of us from Sunnydale. I believe some might refer to him as one of the 'Original Scoobies', as it were." Xander grinned broadly at the reference, but became worried when Giles still didn't meet their gaze. Instead he just continued polishing his glasses. "Some of you may have met him when he assisted in restoring the Council's internal computer, uh, system."

"Intranet." Dawn supplied helpfully. "The system that keeps track of all out resources, assets, and research material. Plus all our secured communications."

"Yes, thank you Dawn." Giles replied gratefully. "He also assisted in establishing the Cleveland school and has been an invaluable resource to us in helping to secure our digital… holdings." It was obvious that Giles still didn't know the right words for this sort of thing, but he didn't pause long enough for Dawn to supply him with the correct answer. Willow, Xander noticed, was looking forlornly at her loosely folded hands, her shoulders hunched slightly as she shrank down in her seat. "More importantly than any of that, however, he is our friend." Giles looked sternly around the room, as if daring anyone to contradict him, and Xander again felt a pang of uneasiness for their spiky haired little bass player. "Who also just so happens to be a werewolf."

Given the way that some of the assembled group stiffened, this explained Giles earlier headmaster like attitude. Simon and Abigail looked the most put-out, though Teresa looked curious. Robin had been around long enough to be in the know, although the thought still clearly made him uneasy.

"Through no fault of his own Oz contracted his… condition during high school, where he was already assisting Buffy and the others in their nightly patrols and researching. After he learned of his condition he took every precaution in which to ensure that he would not be a threat. He spent several years abroad learning to control it and, as of today, has not had a single unprovoked incident for nearly four years."

"And the… 'provoked' incident?" Robin asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Two years ago several surviving initiative soldiers tracked down known _'sub-terrestrials'_," Willow said, anger and sadness warring for dominance in her quite voice, her tone making it perfectly clear what she thought of their use of the word. "They killed seven others, three of which were chipped and four passive species of demon, including their families." Robin absorbed this information and nodded for his understanding before Willow continued. "When they tracked down Oz, he was playing at the park with his niece and her mother…." Willow took a moment to steady herself and Xander could have sworn he saw Faith's hand snake under the table to grab hers. Finally she calmed and was ready to continue. "He remained in control as four guards surrounded them and he managed to lead them away. He still remained in control as the beat him into the ground, refusing to transform because it might endanger others at the park. He still didn't transform when one of the soldiers put a gun to his head. But when one of the soldiers pointed a gun at his eighteen month old niece and her mother playing on the swings…"

"Oz remained in control enough to remove himself from the situation," Giles continued as Willow wiped the collected moisture from her eyes. "After he… _eliminated_ all five soldiers he fled the park in wolf form until he reached a payphone and could call in."

"Violence against werewolves is not uncommon," Dawn supplied quietly. "The Initiative has tried to restructure, but some of its members aren't quite so… progressive. In addition hunters frequently try and take them for potion ingredients or for their furs which are incredibly rare and very hard to… uh, acquire."

"Indeed," Giles continued. "As a result of this, there may be some shifting in politics amongst werewolves in our future. I would ask that everyone keep an open mind and please not resort to the old standard of shoot first, shoot some more, and then when everyone is dead try and ask a few questions."

Xander's lips quirked at the reference, but given the subject matter, he just didn't feel much like smiling. Giles shot Faith a very pointed look here, but the dark haired Slayer just shrugged.

"And one final point of interest," Giles announced just as everyone got ready to leave. "In an effort to solidify his position in the upcoming political shifts, Oz has taken up a new position as a computer analyst and will be particularly difficult to reach. But if you do have any questions or information concerning werewolves or if you need assistance in handling one, he has given the contact information to reach his younger cousin Jordy and his cousins' wife Elizabeth. That will be all."

"New job?" Xander asked curiously amidst the scraping of chairs and talking of his friends and colleagues as they debated the best place to go for lunch. "I thought he just started a new gig at Wayne Enterprises less than a year ago?"

"He did," Giles replied calmly, a rare glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But apparently another, erh, _organization_ made him a better offer."

* * *

**_6:12 pm, Tuesday, April 3_****_rd_****_ – The Watchtower_**

"See the problem is the compression rate. The exterior sensors are buffering at almost four terabytes a minute, but it's still not fast enough."

"I see." J'onn agreed slowly, his typically steady Martian speech slowed as he looked over the various screens in what Oz thought might actually be understanding. It was nice to have someone looking over his shoulder who actually understood what he was doing. Not that he'd minded the big red and blue guy. Supes had minded his own and mostly tried not to nod off in his chair. But it was nice to actually be able to share his interest in computers with someone. There weren't many people who could operate on this sort of level after all. Although… his newest friend _was_ from Mars.

"The resulting delay means that we are unable to retrieve exterior data in real-time, which is a tactical disadvantage," J'onn summed up.

"Tell me about it," Oz groaned quietly, reaching back behind his head to stretch and roll his shoulders out. He found himself much more at ease with the J'onn, the Martians inherently sedate manner melding well with his own need for quiet and calm. He found himself speaking more freely and much more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

"I believe I just did," J'onn replied. Oz smirked fondly as he tapped his finger lightly against the desk twice and the Martian nodded. "Another Terran expression."

"Can you translate the intention from the context?" Oz asked quietly, his soft smirk growing in amusement even as he turned his attention back to the screens.

J'onn thought about it for a long while as Oz continued on with his diagnostics before finally coming to an uncertain conclusion. "A statement of affirmation or agreement?"

"Correct," Oz praised. The Martian was making swift progress in his understanding of slang. He'd simply never had anyone actually bother to explain it to him before. "Indicators?"

"Tone," J'onn replied, sounding a bit more confident this time. "True questions raise in pitch at the end. Statements which are worded as questions do not."

"Good, good… that's good," Oz said distractedly as he scanned line after line of code.

"You're eyebrows have come closer together, indicating deep thought," J'onn observed aloud. "Is there a problem?"

"Hhm, maybe" Oz muttered non-committally. J'onn continued to look at him blankly, waiting for the much smaller man to continue, as Oz scrolled through line after line after line of code before he found what he was looking for. "There! You see that sequence?" J'onn nodded, noting the disturbance but not being proficient enough yet to be able to discern its meaning or importance. "These are satellite pickups from deep space, about three weeks old. It looks as if someone… MOVE."

J'onn only realized that last statement was a command when Oz shot his rolling chair violently along the computer banks, and would have run straight into him if the Martian had not phased. He wanted to ask what was happening, but given the urgency and intensity with which Oz was typing he did not wish to distract the younger being. So instead he reached for the intercom.

"Superman." There was a momentary pause on the other end as he waited for Superman to reach an accessible panel. As he waited he noted that the corresponding screens with which Oz was communicating were shutting down in a rather urgent sequence.

"J'onn." Finally Superman's reply came through the intercom.

"I believe Oz has detected something within the computers systems which requires our urgent attention." J'onn informed him the best as he was able given his own limited understanding of the situation.

"Well what is-" The intercom cut off.

And then the Watchtower went dark.

* * *

_Yes, as we have already established, I am evil. Really, how else did you expect me to end except on a cliffie?_

_I've been doing so much with the League I felt like I needed to throw something in there for the BTVS fans. But please don't expect too much more like this. Yes- BTVS characters will be making guest appearances, but they will not be recurring roles. And Yes- I am using this BTVS sequence to tease part of a larger upcoming plot._

_Fair warning, my final exams start next week so you should not expect to hear from me for at least the next two weeks. But I will be back as soon as my brain re-solidifies._

_Also, if you're interested, the teaser for my first original work is up. You can find it on Facebook here or at the url below…._

_ notes/ed-liaveannos/demons-in-the-dark-prelude/665595653572507 _


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**_6:04 pm, Tuesday, April 3_****_rd_****_ – The Watchtower_**

"So what? Batman just brought him up? Without even consulting us?" Hawkgirl snapped as she tossed a two hundred pound piece of equipment down onto the ground like it was a rolled up sleeping bag. Superman nodded reluctantly as the Flash slurped loudly on one of those frozen coffee drinks he liked so much, the speedster lay sprawled across one of the Javelin's wings. John grumbled something decidedly impolite under his breath as Diana and Hawkgirl set down the last of the equipment from the plane.

"Yeah, and get this- the best part? Now the dude is like best friends with our own little green Martian!" Flash interrupted with a gigantic smirk on his face. "The two wandered off towards the computer labs thick as thieves. Like two peas in a pod! BFF's! Best Friends Forever!"

"Thank you Flash," Superman interrupted patiently. "I think they get the point."

"You got it Supes," Flash replied cheekily, throwing the big guy a thumbs up as he went back to slurping his frozen frappe thing.

"If J'onn approves then he must be a good man," Diana explained in her typically reasoned and steady voice. "J'onn has always had good judgement when it comes to character. And this young man _did _receive Batman's seal of approval. Surely that must count for something."

John continued to grumble discontentedly under his breath. The Flash just shrugged and Hawkgirl stood by impassively. Superman knew that Shiara wouldn't render judgement on a person solely based on another's impression, whether that person be J'onn or Lantern. She would want to meet the young man for herself, and judge him on her own merits. Superman secretly had his own reasons for fuming. It wasn't so much that he didn't trust the other man, the guy seemed like a nice enough person, it was mostly the fact that Bruce had brought him into their innermost private sanctuary without discussing it with the team first. Superman had only even found out because Alfred had called, something which Clark was sure Bruce would not be thanking the elderly man for. His friend was still far too secretive and reclusive, too used to being alone and operating solo to even consider consulting with his teammates about bringing the tech aboard. And that had to change. If they were going to function as a unit they had to act like one.

"Superman." J'onn's voice came calling through the intercom, interrupting Clark's inner musings and distracting the team from their current grumblings. It took only a moment for the caped hero to hover across the short distance to the hanger bay wall. He was bit surprised The Flash hadn't darted across the room to cut him off, the other man being very fond of his little jokes. But when he looked back he saw that the Speedster thoroughly distracted admiring the shape of Wonder Woman's backside as she rooted around in a trunk of equipment looking for something.

"J'onn," Superman answered when he finally reached the panel, only half paying attention as he kept the rest of his focus on his teammates. He hoped the Lantern wouldn't scare off the tech, as they actually did need the computer support and assistance. They would just have to talk with Batman about the whole 'solo vengeance' thing he had going on. He ALSO hoped that Shiara wouldn't knock _all_ of the Flash's teeth out as she caught him starring at Wonder Woman's posterior.

"I believe Oz has detected something within the computers systems which requires our urgent attention." J'onn's voice crackled through the intercom and almost immediately the commotion behind him crawled to an abrupt halt. They had all heard the general uneasiness in J'onns tone of voice, an uneasiness that one only been heard on a very few rare occasions previously. One of those questions involved the invasion and almost total destruction of earth.

"Well what is-" the intercom crackled and shorted out with an audible pop before Superman could even finish his sentence. The others watched warily as their caped leader leaned back from the control panel warily, but they didn't have long to stare as not three seconds after the control panel shorted out, they were plunged into darkness.

**#liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos **

A few hundred thousand miles away, just outside the low orbit atmosphere of Venus, a small, unremarkable ship came hurtling towards the planet earth. The ship was a salvager, designed to go around and pick through space junk for anything valuable, though the ship was mostly a floating heap of junk itself. The crew was even less impressive than the ship they commanded, if that was even possible. More a rag tag collection of vaguely skilled operators from an assortment of planets and a variety of species. Some of those species hadn't gotten along in over a millennia.

The one thing that could always make even the most hated of lowlifes work together – was money. With the payoff from this job, most of the assembled aliens would be able to retire to a life of squalid luxury. After all, 10 billion credits could go a long way in the right part of the Universe.

**#liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos #liaveannos **

"Hey! Who turned out the lights?!"

"What the-"

"Agh! Flash!"

"It wasn't me, I swear!"

"When I find out who-"

The chaos and commotion was cut short as the soft, eerie green glow from the Lanterns ring reflected against their team mates' face before slowly growing to encompass their small group and eventually fill the tiny area where they stood. Flash and Shiara were in a heap on the floor as Superman hovered over from the far side of the hanger. Diana had apparently been knocked over and was rising to her knees, Superman offering her a hand up as she stumbled to her feet. Lantern was watch the two remaining heroes struggle with a raised eyebrow and clearly no intention of helping them out.

"Ugh, Flash! Get off!" Shiara snapped as she tried to shove the speedster off her. Superman absently noted the remains of the frozen coffee drink splattered across the floor beneath the wing he had been balancing on. The speedster must have tried to jump down from the wing and zip across the room when he had seen the lights going out. It clearly hadn't gone well for him.

"I'm trying!"

"Ouch! Watch the wing speed freak!" Shiara snapped as Flash accidentally leaned against the sensitive muscled in her massive wings.

"There's nothing else to lean on!" He whined back. A moment later he found himself being lifted off Shiara by the back of his uniform as Superman hauled by slighter man off. Flash glanced back at Superman as Shiara clambered to her feet, stretching her aching wings experimentally. Shiara shot the still dangling speedster a glare and the younger hero chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. Superman raised an eyebrow at the scarlet speedster but set him back down on his feet none the less.

"Okay, does anyone know what the hell happened?" Lantern said shortly.

"Yeah, what gives Supes?" Flash asked curiously. Superman really didn't know why they seemed to think he had all the answers.

"I honestly don't know," Clark sighed tiredly.

"What did you say that new computer guy was messing around with?" Shiara grumbled, only half joking.

"Did not J'onn call to say something had happened?" Diana asked, in a much calmer and more rational tone of voice. Then again, Diana practically radiated calm and cool level headedness… most of the time. It was one of the things Clark really appreciated about her, she very rarely ever flew off the handle and could usually be counted upon to help keep the peace between their more… passionate team mates.

"Yeah, he said Oz had found something, but the comms systems cut out before he could tell me what it was," Superman relayed, repeating the conversation from just a few moments earlier in his head, looking for any subtle clues or other tidbits of information as to what might have happened.

"Far be it from me to take charge, but _maybe _we'd get closer to figuring out what the hell is going on if we went down to engineering and actually got some answers from the little twerp as opposed to just standing around blabbering about it," GL bit out angrily. It was no secret the intergalactic peace keeper had a short fuse, and after everything that had happened at his trial- well, let's just say that he'd been a little…_ extra_ on edge ever since.

Hawkgirl huffed in annoyance and Superman just shrugged at Diana, not really having any better ideas than that. The small collection of super heroes quickly moved to follow Lantern down the hall.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_Chapter One of my first original fiction, 'Demons in the Dark', is available on AMAZON FREE for the first week via Kindle Unlimited! Follow me on FACEBOOK for news on upcoming projects and new story ideas!_

_Shares are Hugs. Likes are Love. And Reviews are what keep me going!_

Oz had never really been overly fond of the concept of space. In fact, all other things considered, it had almost been a breaking point when he'd first been asked about taking the position for the league. The idea of being trapped, thousands of miles above the earth's surface, with only a thin layer of metal between him and the great sucking void of space? Yeah – not so hot.

But what was worse was the thought of him, trapped in a tin can with a half dozen helpless victims as his control slowly slipped away from him that had woken him up in a cold sweat every night that week. Because he had no doubt, that if his control ever did slip, even the Justice League wouldn't be able to stop him. Sure- they might be able to get a good hit in, or maybe even two. But ultimately, they would fall. They would die at his hands, or rather – at his claws, and his teeth. And there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

He had spent the last seven years desperately struggling to find some form of control, to tame the beast inside of him. And now that he had it what did he do? Hop the first shuttle into space and get himself trapped in a tin can with no way down and no way out.

"…eeunghh…"

Oz turned his attention from attempting to pry open the lab doors to the stirring green form sprawled out on the computer room floor. He took deep purposeful breaths, trying to regulate his breathing with his heartrate and still the panic that had stirred uncomfortably in his chest. The cracked and blackened screens fizzled and sparked, occasionally throwing brief flashes of light into the room, but Oz didn't need it. He could tell where the Martian lay through scent alone, his advanced hearing picking up on the tell-tale heart beat as the man had lain unconscious even after his fingers had failed to find a pulse point. Then again, this was a Martian. Oz had no way of telling if their vascular systems were in any way comparable.

"J'onn. Hey, J'onn, you with me?" Oz asked gently, knowing that the Martians head had to be killing him. They'd both taken quite a blast when the computers had blown. It was only Oz's heightened instincts that had made him jump back enough to escape the brunt of the explosion. Even still, they were both a mess. Glass shards littered their clothes and hair, sticking to their skin along with hundreds of tiny scratches. Oz couldn't see it in the gloom, but his nose could definitely make out the distinctive smell of burnt flesh. From the stiff feeling in his hands and wrists, he'd suffered minor electrical burns when the current had arced out of the keyboard. J'onn probably had some as well from the screens, even if Oz couldn't be sure of where. From the smell of it they weren't too bad off, for which Oz was incredibly grateful. His… _condition_ was already aggravated. He didn't know if he would have been able to deal with the smell of fresh blood and easy prey on top of everything else.

J'onn groaned again, stirring slightly under Oz's grip as the young computer genius nudged his shoulders gently.

"Easy there J'onn, you took a pretty serious hit when the computer blew," Oz spoke softly, cognizant of his friends probably pounding headache.

"Wha… what happened?" J'onn grumbled faintly, obviously still trying to get his bearings. The green skinned man tried to sit up, but resettled regretfully when Oz pushed him gently back to the computer room floor. It wouldn't do for J'onn to go aggravating his injuries, particularly with a head wound. And besides, the Martian didn't much have the strength to fight back or protest the matter at this point.

"Near as I can tell with the lights off and all the computers fried?" Oz quipped lightly, his usual soft voice a tired whisper as they sat in the gloom of the darkened lab. "There was a power surge of some kind. Not too clear on the details, but it set off multiple alerts in the stations code. Managed to shut down most of the station before it came through the system, but ran out of time. When it hit the monitors…"

"They blew," J'onn finished quietly. Though he was still lying prone on the floor, his awareness seemed to be coming back to him slowly but surely. "So, it was a virus?"

Oz shrugged, though he knew the other man (probably) couldn't see it (he actually knew nothing of Martian optometry). "Or an electromagnetic surge, or an alien consciousness, or an asteroid, or cross interference from the neighboring satellites… no way of knowing until we get the computers back up and running."

"Is that advised?" J'onn asked curiously. The Martian was slowly gathering himself up into a sitting position. He was moving carefully to avoid aggravating any injuries, but at least he was sitting.

"Yeah. Put the system into lockdown before the surge hit. Whatever it was, it blew itself out when the system imploded. The rest of the station was dark, so we should be safe," Oz reassured J'onn quietly. The smaller man may not know everything there is to know about the universe, including the exact nature of whatever it was that hit them, but he knew computers. He'd had enough time before the attack to familiarize himself with the stations systems. It he hadn't shut them down, the entire station could have blown. As it was, whatever had surged through the station had blasted itself straight back out again, taking several monitors with it. "Station should stay dark until I can do a hard restart. Good news is the lockdown is preventing us from getting sucked into the vacuum of space. Bad news…"

"We are locked inside," J'onn finished for him. Oz was having to breath carefully in order to remain calm, but managed a nod, probably going unseen in the dark room, in response. "The doors are sealed?"

Oz felt the question was somewhat redundant, but answered anyways. "Yeah, deadbolt locked by the feel of it."

"But they are not charged," J'onn reminded Oz, as if this should somehow help them. All the doorways in the station had an electromagnetic charge which would kick in for emergency situations, both sealing and charging the doors, making them impossible to open without getting zapped across the room just for touching them. But as the stations power had cut out almost instantaneously, those charges had never initiated.

"No…" Oz trailed off, a sudden clip of news reel replaying inside his mind. "You can walk through walls."

"Indeed," J'onn affirmed, getting unsteadily to his feet. "And I have the ability to take passengers."

Oz was still sitting with his arms wrapped loosely around his knees in the dark computer room as J'onn made his way, only slightly wobbly, towards the sealed doorway. The smaller man swallowed deliberately, looking uncertainly towards the doors, his face almost completely hidden in the gloom. J'onn seemed to have sensed Oz's reluctance, and turned back to face the younger man.

"I would only advise this course of action if you believe your secondary consciousness would raise no objections to the process, of course."

Oz sat, his hands gripping his wrists so hard his knuckles were turning white, as J'onn observed him calmly in the darkness.

"You-" Oz's voice cracked slightly, almost imperceptibly to some, and he took a moment to regulate his breathing before he began again. "You know about that?"

"Of course," J'onn conceded calmly, apparently having no frame of reference for Oz's current state of distress. He regarded the younger man carefully before continuing. "I am a telepath. Please forgive the intrusion, it can sometimes be difficult for me to deflect the thoughts of others, particularly those as strong and domineering as your other self. I sensed the secondary being the moment we shook hands." Oz still said nothing. His thoughts were too uncoordinated to form distinct words at this point. "I… do not understand your consternation. Is this… a particularly unusual condition amongst earthers?"

"It's… not exactly common," Oz admitted quietly. His voice wavered, cracking slightly, and J'onn was observant enough to notice it, even if he was not experienced enough with human interactions to be able accurately decipher it. "It is also, uh, not something I feel particularly comfortable sharing."

"I do not feel it is appropriate to discuss the information I glean telepathically with others. While I am occasionally unable to fully contain my abilities, most humans seem uncomfortable with such invasions of privacy... I do not generally make it a habit to disclose personal information."

J'onn regarded the young man sitting on the floor of the darkened computer room carefully. While he could still clearly sense the aura of feral instinct buried within him, the waves of roiling panic the younger man exuded did not come from the other being. J'onn frowned, unconsciously mimicking the human facial expressions for displeasure and concern. It was difficult for him to understand his terran colleagues. Even those of alien origin who had simply made Earth their new home as he had were confusing to him. It was even more difficult to _relate_ to his fellow Justice League members, let alone the general public. As such, forming social bonds beyond the level of acquaintance or colleague had been… slow going, to be generous.

The younger male which he had been communicating with over the last several hours was still very much an unknown to him. And yet… J'onn felt more at ease and comfortable in this mans' presence after only a few hours than he was with most of the league, even after several months of working together. Oz had been patient with him. He had been the first individual, thus far, that J'onn had met on earth who was willing to take the time to explain the nuances of earth culture and linguistics. The experience had been… refreshing. And while J'onn did not understand Oz's obvious concern over his knowledge of the feral entity, he found himself deeply displeased by Oz's current state. The young man had initially said that J'onn should try and voice any such concerns or frustrations he had over his difficulties with verbal and nonverbal communication. J'onn was uncertain if this applied, but he was unwilling to risk alienating his newest acquaintance by remaining silent.

"As we have discussed at some length, I am not greatly practiced in discerning human interactions," J'onn began uncertainly. Oz remained tense and visibly agitated, but was listening attentively as the Martian spoke. It was a small kindness, Oz giving the unpracticed Martian his full attention to help ease the lines of communication between them, but it was one that J'onn deeply appreciated. "I have greatly enjoyed your company these past several hours, and would not wish to do anything which may jeopardize our continued correspondence. I am aware of the circumstances of your condition, as my own abilities make it very difficult not to be. But… Oz- I have no intention of sharing this information with the rest of the League if it causes you any measure of discomfort."

Oz sat quietly, looking at the darkened floor, his ears still pricked in the general direction of the now rather emotionally confused Martian. Finally, eventually, he came to a conclusion.

"I need something from you." Oz began, his breathing regulating as he pushed the panic back into a locked filing cabinet within his mind, to be withdrawn, examined, and dealt with appropriately at a later date. "Just one thing. For my own piece of mind. But it's not small."

"I can neither give my approval nor dissent if I do not know for what you are asking."

Oz smirked at that, fairly certain that he had just received, and not for the first time, a very small dose of Martian 'sass'. But he sobered quickly enough when he remember what it was that he was asking of his new friend.

"I need a promise." Oz paused. He could sense J'onn nodding in the darkness a combination of enhanced hearing and the faint movement of air from his shifting form. "I need you to promise… that if the secondary conscious- the other thing… that if I loose control…" J'onn remained silent. Understanding completely that this time it was someone else's turn to have difficulty putting thoughts into words. "… don't let me hurt anyone."

The words were small, so softly spoken that at first J'onn had thought he had imagined them. But they hung there, none the less, heavy as lead and waiting for J'onn's final verdict on the matter. It was a relatively easy decision, in the grand scheme of things.

"Agreed. Now, if you are quite done wallowing, I believe we have a station to reboot."

Thank you for reading!

Come on now- you know you want more. Click the Links. CLICK THEM!

AMAZON FACEBOOK


	9. Chapter Eight

_Sorry for the super long wait this time! I've actually been really busy working on another project to be released at a later date. But that's another story (literally) …_

_DISCLAIMER: I MAKE NO MONEY FROM MY FANFICTIONS – PLEASE DON'T SUE_

_I do, however, make money on my original works, which can be purchased on KINDLE and AMAZON. Feel free to check them out anytime. If you've liked anything you've read so far, why not give it a look?_

_So – Likes are Love. Shares are Hugs. And Reviews keep me Writing!_

**Chapter Eight**

"Huugh-aahhg!" Clark grunted as he forced the doors apart. The electro-magnetic charge that would usually seal the doorways in case of a security breach had never set. Which on the bright side made it easier for the collected Leaguers to make their way through the station, but on the down side meant that the internal security systems guarding the station were offline for some reason. And as of yet they had no idea as to why.

"This is ridiculous," Lantern grumbled from Clark's left, the green glow from his ring offering the only light in the otherwise darkened hallway. "Stumbling around blind in our own base of operations. Don't we have some kind of fail safes for this sort of thing?"

"And what sort of thing would that be?" Shiara snapped shortly from just behind them. Clark didn't have to see her face to know that she was just as annoyed as the rest of them about this situation. He could tell from the tone of her voice. But at least she wasn't grumbling about it. The two of them butted heads so much that Clark was honestly surprised they managed to work together at all.

"Shiara is correct. We don't know anything about the nature of what actually happened. All we know for sure right now is that we've lost power." Diana corrected, fully agreeing with Shiara's point, even if she was a bit more diplomatic about it. John grumbled something about 'women' and 'unreasonable'. For his own health and safety, Clark sincerely hoped that he would refrain from making any of those comments out loud.

"Well actually that's not strictly true," the Flash commented lightly from the tail end of the group. Clark had a sneaking suspicion he knew whey the Flash was lolly gagging along so far behind Shiara and Diana, but for his own safety he kept those thoughts to himself.

"Oh really," Shiara deadpanned. "Well then tell us Flash, what do we know?"

"Well, we know that whatever happened had to involve some sort of electromagnetic surge, otherwise the backup generators already would have kicked in. That and whatever hit us for some reason didn't compromise the exterior shell integrity, thank Science, otherwise we'd all be breathing space at this point. So whatever it was someone must have manually overridden the shutdown controls in order to seal off necessary systems."

By this point everyone had stopped and turned to stare blankly at the speedster. The scarlet clad hero was rocking idly back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking up at the hall ceiling. As if sensing their looks he looked back down to see the rest of the assembled league starring at him.

"What?" The flash shrugged, appearing for the first time to be uncomfortable with all the attention. "I have a science background."

"All right then hot shot, since you seem to know what's going on around here, what do we do next?" Shiara asked glibly.

The speedster just shrugged. "Turn the life support back on?"

"Wait- it's off?" Clark asked numbly. The Flash just nodded, looking completely nonplused, but Clark was relieved to see that the others looked at least slightly put out by this new piece of information.

"Well, yeah," Flash responded. "It was turned off with everything else when the station went dark. If the electromagnetic surge had passed through the oxygenation systems we would have had massive fire balls, corrosive fumes and toxic gas spewing out all over the place. Someone must have shut it all down before that happened."

"So… how are we all still…?" Clark began uncertainly.

"Breathing?" Flash asked glibly, a cocky little smirk plainly evident even in the dim lighting and under the red cowl. "Standard atmospheric oxygen content is around 20%. Human beings need at least 15% to be able to function, but even then you wouldn't be able to exert yourself. Below 10% core systems become seriously compromised; crippling nausea, headaches and fatigue. That sort of stuff. At 6%? It's good night Lucy."

"How long before we reach 6%?" Clark asked nervously, hoping his anxiety wasn't too apparent to the rest of the group.

"Well the station normally runs at almost 24% oxygen saturation for safety reasons. Sooo… six people, moderate exertion, given the total number of cubic square feet, not accounting for any possible leaks of course… forty two hours?"

Clark breathed a sigh of relief, trying not to let the others see how nervous he'd been. While there were very few things that could hurt the man of steel, he most definitely still needed oxygen to breathe.

"This is stupid," John interrupted. "We're wasting time."

"We are evaluating the situation at hand," Diana interjected calmly. She had no more patience for John's current attitude than any of the others did, but she most certainly wasn't going to bash him over the head for it, like Shiara looked like she was about to.

"So alright Mr. Smarty Pants," Shiara asked, half mocking and half serious. "What's our next course of action?"

The Flash blushed, actually _blushed_, under all the sudden extra attention, before scratching at his chin thoughtfully and composing his answer.

"Well, my first bet would be to head to the brain stem –" Flash paused at all of their confused looks to explain. "It's that emergency manual override system Bat's installed next to the greenhouses? We can control the artificial gravity, life support, and the sealing of the exterior shell to prevent atmospheric leaks." Clark nodded along, understanding the jist of what was being said, even if he knew he had no idea of the details. "After that… check out auxiliary control I guess and try to find out what happened?"

The Flash shrugged his expertise running out where science ended and tactical took over, but Clark nodded along anyway, pleased with his general assessment of the situation

"Wait, auxiliary control? Is that not where J'onn and the young man were working on the computer systems?" Diana asked curiously.

"You think that little punk had anything to do with this?" John asked suddenly, more to either Superman or the Flash than to Diana. Clark was skeptical, but before he could voice his concerns the Flash (as usual) beat him to the punch.

"I doubt it," the young man was looking dubiously up at the ceiling again, contemplating Johns proposition. "Whatever it was that passed through the station, it had to be some sort of massive energy surge. And the Watchtower just isn't capable of producing that kind of energy- not without plunging us all into darkness and sending us hurtling towards earth anyways. It might explain why the ship didn't completely blow up though."

"How so?" Diana asked, glossing over the 'completely blow up' bit even as Clarks spine chilled at the words.

"Well if they managed to isolate certain systems, it would explain why the life support system hasn't completely fried and flooded the hallways with toxic gas. And why we appear to still be in a relatively stable orbit."

"Alright look," Clark finally spoke, not quite cutting the Flash off but interrupting quickly enough that no one else could interject. "John is right about one thing- we are wasting time." Clark tried to ignore Lanterns simultaneously triumphant and pissed off glare as he spoke to the rest of the group. "We now have a basic understanding of what is going on and we know how to fix it. Lantern, Diana, escort Flash down to the brain room thing and help him get the life support systems up and running. Shiara and I will head toward auxiliary control and try to find J'onn and Oz. Hopefully we can then start making sense of all this and get the station back up and running."

Clark could practically see Lanterns feathers getting ruffled at the order, and he actually _could_ see Shiara's feathers ruffling. But he had no time or patience to sooth either their egos or his conscience right now. Flash would need the more consistent lighting of Lantern's ring in order to complete his task of getting the life support back online, and Diana would make sure the two didn't kill each other before they even got that far. The station was black, they had a finite air supply (even if it was almost two days worth), they were flying blind and quite literally standing in the dark. And dammit- this was THEIR home. One of the few places in the world they were supposed to be able to just **be. **

But worse than that. Worse than possible death, impending doom, risk to thousands of civilian lives if the station were to suddenly loose orbit and plummet towards the earth with them all burning alive inside of it- was the thought of Batman coming back in less than two hours time with the station still out of their control

And for that reason and nothing else, Clark was eager to get a move on. "Ok guys, lets spread out."

"You're sure this will work?" Oz asked dubiously, looking between the sealed computer lab doors and Jon's patiently outstretched hand in the heavy gloom.

"As I've said, repeatedly," Oz couldn't help but pick up on the faint note of exasperation in the Martian's tone. His lips quirked faintly, but the bundle of nerves and anxiety building in his chest made it all but impossible to smile. "There should be no complications." Oz remained unconvinced. The Martian tread carefully. "However, if it will help ease your… condition, we could always begin lightly by simply phasing through something smaller first."

Oz quirked an eyebrow in the dark, but apparently Jon could see it. The Martian nodded towards a desk chair and the computer technician, catching the hint, righted it.

"All you need do is continue to breathe normally and focus on remaining the dominant personality."

"The, uh, other guy?" Oz began cautiously, trying to ignore how badly his voice was beginning to crack. "It's a little more than a, uh, 'personality'." J'onn nodded, but Oz knew he didn't fully understand. How could he? Still, he had to be sure. "If I, uh, start to change? I need you to run."

"I do not intend to abandon you," J'onn replied simply. Oz swallowed at the words that he knew were meant to inspire comfort. So he tried a different tactical approach, relying on more logic.

"I cannot focus fully on maintaining my control if I then also have to worry about not hurting you," Oz stated, as succinctly as possible. "If I begin to change I need to know that I can shift my focus without hesitation."

"Very well," J'onn relented. And though he could hear the hesitation in the Martians voice, it brought him no small measure of comfort to know that the other man would follow through on his word. J'onn held out his hand once more and this time Oz took it, trying to focus on the warm, dry, sandy feeling of Martian skin beneath his own rather than the pounding of his own heart. As they turned towards the chair Oz couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Here he was, a veritable monster in his own right who had traveled the world and chased down horrific, vicious and evil creatures that would give most people nightmares for life… and he was absolutely terrified of a freakin' office chair.

J'onn raised an eyebrow at his small chuckle, but thankfully didn't comment as he instead chose to pull Oz along towards the chair. The closer they got the more aware Oz became of a faint tingling in the hand that J'onn was gripping. It was like an all over buzzing that, in his wilder days before his, uh, 'condition' developed, Oz would have attributed to a few too many drinks and some particularly good weed. At the time, the sensation had been pleasant. And Oz was sure that if he were actually capable of relaxing, he would have found this pleasant as well. But as it was, combined with his own uneasiness and the heightened stress from his earlier close call with the computer monitors blowing out, the sensation was anything but pleasant. He could practically feel it running through his fur, crackling and fizzing and sending every hair on end. As they got closer to the chair his breaths began to come in short gasps as every instinct in his body and every instinct of his other self told him that what he was doing was beyond the realm of physical possibility.

Up until the moment he reached the edge of the chair, everything had just been a bundle of nerves and anxiety and fight or flight instincts run amok with a vague background of unpleasant tingling. He closed his eyes, silently willing the tingling to go down or the intense need to run (and/or throw up) to go away.

But then he felt it. Eyes shut and breathing ragged, he felt the intense 'wrong-ness' of his physical being sharing space with another solid object. The world swam, melting into a hot tidal mess of scents and sensations and instincts. He felt a growl grow from low in his throat more than he heard it, and immediately clamped down – _hard. _A moment later, he felt the wrongness fade, and reality, along with his senses, snapped back to him. He felt like he'd been hit in the face by a cool refreshing breeze for the first time after being sequestered in a dark noisy steam room for days.

"…borne? Daniel? Can you hear me?"

"Gah," Oz choked out, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. J'onn was standing nearby, but had taken a cautious step backwards, his hand held out in a comforting gesture but thankfully not making physical contact. "..hm ukay, hi'm okay…"

His breath was still coming out in uneven gasps, but they were softer now, reducing his reassurances to a soft whisper. It took him a while, quite a bit longer than he cared to admit in fact, but he eventually managed to reign back the instincts. He felt himself sliding back into his body, the last of his senses clicking into place as the tingling and numbness in the tips of his fingers and toes finally faded away.

"Ugghhh…" Oz groaned out, he rubbed his throbbing head as he slowly stood up straight again and looked J'onn cautiously in the eyes. "I don't think this is such a good idea"

"Do you another suggestion?" J'onn asked wryly. Oz was still bent over, leaning heavily on his knees as he took long, slow breaths in, and out. But he managed to pick his head up enough to cock a sarcastic eyebrow at J'onn.

Still, he knew the Martian was right. They had no other way to escape their tiny dark prison, and no way of knowing what was going on outside in the rest of the station until they did so. The others could be hurt (or worse), they could be under attack, or the station could be hurtling towards a crash trajectory with Earth. They just had no way of knowing until they got out of there.

"Ok," Oz finally admitted reluctantly, bracing himself and taking slow, even breaths. "Let's make this quick."


	10. Chapter Nine

_I apologize in advance for the delay - my father had a motorcycle related incident that involved multiple emergency medical visits, a last minute trans Atlantic flight and a whole lot of 'I-told-you-so's. All in all it's kept me pretty distracted :/ But I'm back now! So enough excuses, and on with the show!_

_Likes are Love. Shares are Hugs. And Reviews keep me Updating._

**CHAPTER NINE**

The hallways were eerily quiet with only the sound of his and Shiara's boots clicking across the empty linoleum passageway. They still had not managed to turn the emergency lighting back on, leaving only the erratic sparking of power across Shiara's mace to lead the way. The light was useful, and definitely better than nothing, but it was sharp and erratic, never quite allowing the eyes to adjust and keeping them from seeing all but the most basic of details in the otherwise completely pitch black hallway. Clark very nearly tripped over an errant toolbox to prove that exact point.

"Watch yourself space boy- can't have you knocking yourself out before we even get there," Shiara teased light heartedly, her usual sass returning as they found themselves in the familiar comfort of a battle situation. Clark grimaced, but didn't take the jab too personally. He knew Shiara was always at her best right before a battle. In all honesty though, he sincerely hoped a battle was not on their itinerary for today. "How much longer anyway?"

"Not far," Clark replied calmly. "Auxiliary control is just down this hallway."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt a tremor beneath his feet. It was nothing, just a brief period of vibration, but from the look on Shiara's face, she'd noticed it too. The super hero dropped to his knees, but by the time he'd pressed his palm to the floor, the vibration had faded.

"Did you feel that?" Clark asked redundantly, he already knew the answer, but Shiara's nod confirmed it anyways. The two heroes exchanged a look that, to all but those who knew them best, no one would have recognized as worry.

"We should get moving," Clark said as he pushed himself up to his knees. Shiara nodded in agreement as the two continued their trek down the hall, albeit somewhat more hurriedly than they had before. "Hopefully Oz can help the Flash get the life support systems back up and running, maybe even help him figure out what caused all this."

"Hmm," Shiara replied non-committedly. The man of steel shot her a curious sideways glance.

"Something bothering you?"

"I was just wondering… what do we really know about this Oz guy?"

"Not much," Superman answered with a shrug. "Batman did all of the research on him, but he apparently liked what he found… or didn't find I guess."

"Seems awfully convenient," Shiara said muttered quietly, her stern expression replacing her previous quiet smirk. "This guy just showing up out of quite literally nowhere and just a few hours later the station is under attack?"

"We don't know yet that the station is actually under attack," Clark argued weekly. Shiara didn't look convinced.

"All I'm saying, is how do we know that this guy Bat's brought in isn't some sort of criminal mastermind scheming to bring down the league?"

What happened next was flurry of commotion and flailing and chaos that took even Superman, with his extraordinary reflexes and enhanced speed, a few moments to process.

They were just coming up towards the auxiliary control room doors, the light of Shiara's mace still flickering inconsistently down the otherwise black hall, when the shape of two bodies came flailing straight through the apparently solid barrier of the still sealed doorway in a tangle of limbs and grunts. One of the figures managed to fall somewhat more gracefully than the other, landing on their hands and knees and almost immediately rising to their feet. The two heroes could easily make out the familiar form of their fellow League member, thankfully before Shiara had a chance to take a swing at him with her still dangerously crackling mace. The other figure, however, had fallen somewhat less gracefully, and was still struggling to get their hands underneath them when the unmistakable sounds of retching began. Clark couldn't quite suppress a wince at the pitiful sounds coming from the small, and now visibly trembling, figure on the floor. Shiara stood beside Superman, her mace still raised to provide the same erratic crackle of light, clearly unimpressed as she raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"That theory I had? Forget it," the Thanagarian dismissed wryly. Clark was torn between amusement at Shiara's dismissal and concern for the obviously affected computer tech. J'onn, however, was currently showing nothing but concern for his young friend. Although, given their almost immediate kinship, that wasn't really surprising. In fact, the Martian had scarcely done little more than acknowledge his teammates presence as he hovered protectively around the shivering young man. Thankfully, Oz's retches had diminished to little more than dry heaving, though he remained sprawled firmly across the hallway floor.

"Is he okay?" Clark asked concernedly.

"It was my error, I should not have encouraged him to phase through the door with a probable concussion," J'onn said, still looking on in concern as the young man at his side got shakily to his hands and knees and stayed there, drawing slow, uneasy breaths. "It does not appeared to have agreed with him."

Superman thought that might just take the prize for understatement of the century, but he still felt the need to confirm his colleagues' wellbeing. "Are either of you seriously hurt?"

J'onn shook his head slowly, still reluctant to look away from his obvious unwell compatriot. "Minor cuts and bruises primarily, I believe we managed to remove the worst of the glass. Though both of us have probable concussions, and then there are the burns."

"Burns?" Clark asked curiously.

"Yeah- can't you smell it? I picked up on it as soon as they came through the wall," Shiara acknowledged. Clark raised a curious eyebrow, he hadn't known an acute sense of smell was one of Hawk girl's many talents.

J'onn extended his arm absently for Superman's inspection, the Martian still only had eyes for his injured friend even as Clark poked and prodded at what had to be some incredibly painfully burns. The skin was warped and crisped, blackened edges exposing oozing flesh in erratic patterns where electricity had arced across his skin. Even the surrounding skin was discolored and painful looking, it would probably blister uncomfortably given time and exposure to air. The discoloration covered most of J'onn's right arm and part of his chest, snaking up his shoulder and even brushing the bottom of his face. The left arm was also affected, though not as severely, and thankfully the worst of it, the burnt and blackened and oozing criss-cross patterns in his green flesh, was relatively localized.

"How did this happen?" Clark asked in equal parts concern and awe.

"Monitors blew out," the shaky voice that answered him had most definitely not been J'onns and Clark looked up to find that Oz had somehow managed to get shakily to his feet and was leaning precariously against the wall. J'onn was watching his friends' progress with careful concern, but had not yet moved to intervene as the smaller man had pulled himself to his feet.

Clark felt instantly embarrassed and even somewhat ashamed for having ever suspected the young man's involvement. The tech was shaking, his breaths coming in unsteady gasps as he leaned heavily against the wall. The young man's gaze was wide and unfocused and he was alarming pale. Glass dusted his clothing and burns snaked their way up his wrists and forearms, singeing his the cuffs of his rolled up sleeves in places, though in general his burns seemed far less extensive than J'onns. Clark was now visibly reminded that the individual in front of him was not a hero. He was not a warrior, not an alien, not a metahuman. He had no alien powers or supernatural abilities to protect him. He hadn't given himself over to this life, hadn't signed up to protect the planet. He was just a computer tech, doing his job, and in way over his head.

"Do you know what caused it?" Shiara asked abruptly. While her tone wasn't exactly friendly, Clark was surprised to note that she had dropped some of her usual aggression.

Oz still seemed to be focusing primarily on his own breathing, with J'onn hovering somewhat protectively around the younger man. Clark was careful to note that Martian was being especially careful not to actually touch him, even when it seemed as if the slighter figures knees were liable to give out on him. Eventually though, the younger man seemed to pull himself together, though he was still incredibly pale and far too shaky for Clark's liking. J'onn shifted slightly, and Oz opened his eyes almost reluctantly before giving the Martian a faint, almost imperceptible, nod and the closest thing the young man could manage to a reassuring smile – a grimace.

"I can't be sure until I get back into the system," Oz eventually responded, his voice rasping quietly from the back of his throat. "I noticed an odd reading from the exterior sensors in the data log while running second tier diagnostics. It was a reoccurring sequence dating back over two weeks. It's only because I was locked in on that specific sequence that I saw the surge before it happened. I shut down as many core systems as I could, but I didn't have time to cut off the auxiliary control room before the surge hit."

"Why would you shut down the core systems?" Shiara asked suspiciously.

"Other than the part where if it hit life support the station would have been flooded with toxic fumes?" Oz asked wryly, a little more snap in his tone than Clark would have thought the boy was capable of. But Oz just sighed and shrugged. "Five other people on board. Between definite toxic suffocation for seven or possible electrocution for two… wasn't really that much of a decision."

Shiara didn't say anything, but her raised eyebrow and the side long look she shot to Superman spoke volumes. She was impressed with the boys' decision, even if she would never admit it. Few were able to override instinctual self-preservation, especially in the heat of the moment. Most people react to avoid the most immediate danger to themselves- in this case; electrocution. It took a special kind of selflessness and a remarkably cool head under pressure to do otherwise. Shiara smirked at the young man, shaken though he was.

"Hawkgirl, by the way," she introduced casually, still smirking at him. "But you can call me Shiara."

If Oz noticed Superman's surprise, he didn't react on it. The Thanagarian's true name was not exactly a national secret, but the number of people she let use it was extremely limited.

"Oz," the young man introduced, strain and fatigue still obvious in his voice. "I'd shake your hand, but…" the young man trailed off awkwardly, rubbing his hands off on his jeans before tucking them awkwardly under his arms. Given the pool of sick on the floor behind him, Clark quickly picked up on his meaning and couldn't help his own faint grimace. Shiara, on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed. If anything, her smirk just grew.

"Where are the others?" J'onn asked suddenly, as if had just realized that three other people were not following along behind them.

"They went down to life support to try and bring the system back on line," Superman informed the Martian casually. J'onn just nodded.

"Ah yes, Flash has a background in science I believe." Clark just nodded, surprised (though he really shouldn't be) that J'onn had known something about a fellow league member that he hadn't.

"Does he have any experience in IQ systems management?" Oz asked abruptly, still looking unnaturally pale but now much more alert.

"Uhh…"

The computer tech just rolled his eyes faintly at Clark's response, clearly unimpressed, but was at least polite enough to_ try _and hide it. "A manual systems override will only restore unit functionality. If we want viability to be restored to the entire station I have to get into the system and repair the damaged code, preferably before the systems mechanics are brought back online."

"Uhm…"

Once again, Oz seemed less than pleased with Superman's response, but this time he turned to J'onn expectantly. Surprisingly, the Martian responded almost immediately with a layman's translation of Oz's protest.

"Oz needs to reset the computers running the life support before the Flash turns on the machinery for it to work properly." Oz was nodding along approvingly at J'onns translation and now looked expectantly at the other two super heroes.

"Uh- we were hoping you could restore some of the systems and figure out what happened from here."

"I assume you were somehow confused when we said 'the monitors blew out'?" Oz asked sardonically. Clark was about to respond when Oz sighed and leaned forward to dust glass fragments from his hair. The full extent of the damage inside the auxiliary control room suddenly dawned on Clark.

"Is any of it salvageable?" Clark asked despairingly. At this point he was less concerned with having to go down to life support to figure anything out, and more with Batman's reaction upon finding out what had happened. Oz just shook his head sadly, appearing honestly remorseful at the loss of technology. Clark hung his head and sighed, running a frustrated hand through his normally unruffled dark hair as he weighed the options before eventually conceding. "Alright- let's get down to life support."

Four decks below auxiliary control, in another darkened hallway, a bulkhead door slid open with a hiss. It was impossible to see in the pitch black, but the footfalls of three alien forms echoed around in the empty chamber. The darkness was no hindrance for these three, however, as their forms slid smoothly and seamlessly into hall. The bulkhead door slid shut behind them with an unheard hiss as the three intruders made their way unobserved into the heart of the Watchtower.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Ten**

I'd apologize for the delay, but at this point it's futile. Here's a new chapter-

Facebook Here Twitter Here

To say that Oz was stressed was like saying that the sun was hot. Or that Hellmouths were dangerous. Or that damaging a Slayers outfit was a bad idea. So, a bit of an understatement then.

The truth was, Oz had hit his absolute end. His nerves were frayed to mere threads. His apprehension was becoming difficult to hide even under his usual impeccable calm. His entire being felt as if it were hooked up to a live jumper cable and just waiting for someone to throw the switch. His whole body ached with the constant tension and each new addition to his already stressful situation was sending him closer and closer to the edges of sanity. He could feel the wolf growing and clawing at his mental barriers, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. His shields were still intact, for now, but he couldn't guarantee how much longer they would last. Not under this constant onslaught of unknown dangers and sensory overload. He needed relief.

And then he found it.

It smelled like pollen and dust. Like sunshine and warmed earth being stirred up in a strong breeze. Like distant starlight and cool metal and gusts of air so _powerfull_…

"So, how did you come to work for Batman?"

And just like that, the source of his new found obsession interrupted the line of his thoughts.

"Who said I work for him?" Oz replied quietly, having been woken from his mental musings abruptly, but not without his wits about him. Shiara just smirked at his side, obviously having hoped to catch him off his guard. But she didn't seem too terribly disappointed in her failure to pry any loose information from the computer tech's tongue. If anything, she seemed somehow.

"So who do you work for?" Shiara asked abruptly, not ready to abandon her line of inquiry just because she'd lost her element of surprise.

"Whoever plans on handing over a big suitcase full of money I guess," Oz replied with a generic shrug. At Shiara's raised eyebrow he thought he might as well have a bit of fun as long as he was trying to distract himself. "Somehow I don't think my landlord is going to accept a personal check, even if it was Superman's name at the bottom."

Shiara let out more of a bark than a laughed at that. The sound was sharp and aggressive, but Oz found himself relishing in it. He even went so far as to return her smirk with one of his own. Something about her feral nature called to him, relating to the animal instincts he had to work so hard at to suppress. It was oddly freeing, to not feel that constant _need_ to work so hard to hide his more savage responses.

Oz was surprised to feel the wolf settle a little within him. A little closer to the surface than it had been, perhaps. But if loosing the chains just that little bit meant he no longer had to deal with the constant growling and scratching at his psyche door, then he could deal with the wolf lying calm and contentedly just below the surface.

"So, you work for the highest bidder?" Clark asked uncertainly.

The wariness in his tone made it fairly obvious to the tiny group what the Man of Steele was thinking. Oz felt Jon bristle at his side, but he put a hand out slightly to calm the Martian, and as a sign that he could handle his own fights. The gesture was small, and so Superman, who was taking the lead, didn't even see it. All he knew was that the hallway fell silent for several long uncomfortable moments. Eventually they came to a bulkhead door, which Superman had to pry apart to allow for the others to pass through. As they all began passing through, Oz spoke quietly, continuing their previous conversation.

"One of the things about being the best at what you do, is never having a shortage of job offers." As Oz made his way through the bulkhead, he locked eyes with the Kryptonian. Superman froze and stiffened slightly at the intense gaze, but then Oz broke eye contact and continued on as if nothing had even happened. "Means I get to be picky about clients. Who I do, and do not, choose to work for is entirely up to me."

The last part was so quiet that even Shiara, with her impeccable hearing, had to strain to catch the words. But she caught them none the less.

"So, what? You really that good?" Shiara asked, part jab and part honest inquiry.

"I'm alright," Oz answered indifferently with a slight shrug. He watched the Thanagarian's back straighten and her feathers ruffle out of the corner of his eye before shooting her a sly smirk. Instantly the defensive posture dropped (along with her already impressive wing span) and another sharp bark of laughter echoed in the hallway.

"I've never understood this dependence on technology," Shiara shook her head despairingly.

"What, they don't have spaceships where you're from?" Oz asked with a pointed smirk. Shiara returned it before shaking her head.

"We use science and technology to accomplish what is needed, but primarily it was a weapon of war. And war is something Thanegarians know well. But even without our weapons, we are deadly foes! On this world though…" Here the winged warrior shook her head sadly, as if honestly disappointed in the people of this world just as a mother would be disappointed in a child. "If your technology failed, your world would plunge into darkness. Your people run around like, what was the expression? Beheaded birds?"

Oz smirked and glanced back over his shoulder at Jon. An unspoken communication passed between the computer tech and the Martian. A moment later, Clark was surprised when it was Jon who corrected their colleague.

"Headless chickens," Jon corrected factually. Shiara glanced back with a furrowed brow, and Jon explained. "Terrans seem to wish to minimize violence in colloquial expressions, particularly those of educational value or those which might be used by children."

"Hmm," Shiara shrugged, probably not overly concerned with the cultural implications of the expression, but really more surprised with Jon's knowledge in the matter.

"You have a point you know," Oz admitted quietly. They were waiting for Superman to pry open yet another bulkhead in front of them. "We do tend to bury ourselves in a web of technology so intricate that its failing would be catastrophic. All it would take to plunge our world into chaos would be to break a single link in the chain. Take traffic lights for example. Even shutting down a few city blocks could bring an entire city to a crawl. Road accidents would pile up, and first responders, relying on the same road network, would be unable to reach the crash sites to help the victims or clear the accidents."

"This something you think a lot about?" Clark asked casually as he pried open yet another bulkhead door. No one was fooled.

"It is when you're the guy designing the magnetic overrides to protect the traffic lights," Oz answered with equal casualness as they strode across another empty, echoing chamber. Tall pillars rose from floor to ceiling at sparse intervals throughout the room, making it feel, to Oz at least, as if he were walking through the mine's or Moria. The thought did not sit well with him. "Or this station for that matter. You have nearly two dozen systems working in conjunction to help protect the station from outside attacks, but all of them were rendered useless because the buffers capacity to take in, store, and cipher through the information from the sensors was vastly exceeded."

Superman looked deeply unsettled, either at the vulnerabilities in their station or at Oz's knowledge of such vulnerabilities. But before he could find a voice for his concerns, a strong current of vibrations pulsed through the floor, making four sets of feet halt on cue.

"Did anybody else feel that?" Shiara asked, rather pointlessly, but still eager for the verification. Oz nodded gravely as his eyes scanned the floor beneath them for any obvious signs of the cause. Jon's eyes glowed as he extended his psychic reach, and Superman shared a wide eyed gaze of concern with Shiara. Again Superman looked as though he wanted to say something. But whatever was on his mind would have to wait.

The panel next to the opposing door blinked red, cutting off their exit into the rest of the station. Just as Oz was about to point out this troublesome development to the assembled heroes, the far wall shuddered and clunked.

It wasn't a wall. It was an exterior bay door, indistinguishable and otherwise unnoticeable in the gloom. The two foot thick piece of reinforced titanium was the only thing separating them from the biting expanse of space beyond this station. And with a hiss, and a shift, and an almighty roar, the door swished open.

"Any idea how much longer we're going to be?" GL asked impatiently as he kept hi ring level, letting the glow of green light illuminate as much of the small room as he could while a red streak searched for the appropriate computer systems amongst over a dozen various terminals.

"Just give me a sec, would ya? It's not like I come down here a lot! Bat's is usually the one handling all the maintenance stuff. I just know the science behind it," the Flash bit back with a snap. He was growing more and more fed up with Lanterns dismissive attitude and impatience. He knew GL wanted to get outside the ship and do a fly by. The interplanetary lone ranger wanted to figure out what happened, identify the threat, and kick its butt. Flash couldn't say he didn't share the same feeling. But they couldn't do any of that until he verified the hull integrity. If GL popped open one of the exterior doors at a time like this and the interior doors didn't hold, they'd lose what little breathable atmosphere they did have and the station would get ripped apart by the force of its own venting atmosphere.

"Is there any way in which we can offer assistance?" Diana asked more helpfully. She too was impatient to get going, but she recognized that he impatience would not help them to achieve their goals.

"Unless you know what a life support control terminal looks life, not really," the Flash replied in his usual rushed tone. Diana was about to get annoyed when the scarlet speedster paused while rushing between terminals to flash her one of his usual beaming smiles in gratitude. "But thanks for the offer."

Diana smiled back faintly at the recognition and the Flash smirked before zipping off to dig through the files of the next computer module. GL just groaned in annoyance, a frown creasing his mouth and forehead that only grew even more severe when yet another tremor shook through the floor. There had been well over a dozen small tremors, varying in magnitude passing through the hull over the course of their search. But this one was stronger than anything they had felt thus far. The three heroes stopped and glanced at one another before the Flash zipped back to another computer terminal.

"You already looked at that one," GL groused lamely.

"Which is why I know that even though I can't override the magnetic locks from here, I can still check the barometric pressure in each part of the - uh oh."

"Uh oh? What uh oh?" GL asked impatiently, peering over the Flashes shoulder to look at what the screen held. It was a diagram of the ship, locked in on section A deck 12, only two levels from the hanger where they'd all started but over six levels from either the auxiliary control room at the base of the station where they were currently searching or the computer room where Superman and Hawkgirl had gone to retrieve the tech from. The section was flashing an urgent red, coded text popping along the side that only a certified computer genius or someone with super speed would be able to make heads or tails of it. And suddenly, all GL could think to say was an entirely unoriginal reiteration of the speedsters previous comments.

"Uh oh."

Facebook Here Twitter Here


End file.
